sat down to rest; he was out of breath and trembling with
fright, and he had not the least idea which way to go. Also he was
very damp with sitting in that can.

After a time he began to wander about, going lippity-lippity--not very
fast, and looking all around.

He found a door in a wall; but it was locked, and there was no room
for a fat little rabbit to squeeze underneath.

An old mouse was running in and out over the stone doorstep, carrying
peas and beans to her family in the wood. Peter asked her the way to
the gate, but she had such a large pea in her mouth that she could not
answer. She only shook her head at him. Peter began to cry.

Then he tried to find his way straight across the garden, but he
became more and more puzzled. Presently, he came to a pond where
Mr. McGregor filled his water-cans. A white cat was staring at some
goldfish; she sat very, very still, but now and then the tip of her
tail twitched as if it were alive. Peter thought it best to go away
without speaking to her; he had heard about cats from his cousin,
little Benjamin Bunny.

He went back toward the tool-shed, but suddenly, quite close to him,
he heard the noise of a hoe--scr-r-ritch, scratch, scratch, scratch.
Peter scuttered underneath the bushes. But, presently, as nothing
happened, he came out, and climbed upon a wheelbarrow, and peeped
over. The first thing he saw was Mr. McGregor hoeing onions. His back
was turned toward Peter, and beyond him was the gate!

Peter got down very quietly off the wheelbarrow, and started
running as fast as he could go, along a straight walk behind some
black-currant bushes.

Mr. McGregor caught sight of him at the corner, but Peter did not
care. He slipped underneath the gate, and was safe at last in the wood
outside the garden.

Mr. McGregor hung up the little jacket and the shoes for a scarecrow
to frighten the blackbirds.

Peter never stopped running or looked behind him till he got home to
the big fir-tree.

He was so tired that he flopped down upon the nice soft sand on the
floor of the rabbit-hole, and shut his eyes.

His mother was busy cooking; she wondered what he had done with his
clothes. It was the second little jacket and pair of shoes that Peter
had lost in a fortnight!

I am sorry to say that Peter was not very well during the evening.

His mother put him to bed, and made some camomile tea; and she gave a
dose of it to Peter!

"One table-spoonful to be taken at bed-tim